Prologue

Our Lady of Redemption Cathedral stood large and imposing at the center of the small town. It had been there since the municipality had been established in 1902. The bell tower reached toward the cloudy sky.

That night, the aura of calm, holy silence was broken.

The front of the cathedral was rushed by a SWAT team wearing bulletproof vests, assault rifles ready. They moved in unison with fluid precision as they lined up near the entrance. After everyone was in place, the lead man slammed his heavy boot into the door and forced it open. The armed unit surged inside.

A lone woman was among the many empty pews, head bowed in prayer. She barely had time to recognize what was happening before one of the squad swept her up, a hand covering her mouth, and pulled her away from the unfolding scene to safety.

The team reassembled at the front of the sanctuary, their guns trained on a simple wooden table that held nothing more than a thick Bible and a crucifix. The cast-iron Jesus statue seemed unfazed at having so many weapons leveled in his direction.

Two men hefted the table by its ends and carried it away. A third pulled back the edge of the embroidered rug on the floor, exposing a hidden cellar door.
A symbol had been etched into the wood: a distorted pentagram, each point of the star a different length.

One man flung open the cellar, revealing a staircase that led down into a basement. The SWAT team descended into the darkness, guns ready.

The beams from the flashlights affixed to the ends of their rifles cut through the shadows, so it didn’t take long for them to find the cages. Inside were dozens of children, faces dirty and hair disheveled. Many were quite thin from malnourishment.

Although no one on the SWAT team spoke, they all shared the same thought in that moment: they were in disbelief. The outlandish tip they’d received was real.

Chapter 1

It was one of those days where Rand Casey was physically there, but mentally elsewhere.

The only sounds in the hushed classroom were pens scratching on paper and Professor Sharma’s heels clacking on the tiled floor as she slowly paced back and forth, scanned the students, and ensured everyone kept their eyes on their own papers.

Clack… clack… clack…

The steady rhythm only heightened Rand’s sleepiness as he struggled to stay awake.

It had only been three days since his return from the Herron House. What he’d thought was just another case had turned out to be a carefully laid trap. He’d only narrowly escaped with his life and was now burdened by new, disturbing revelations— the existence of a network of corrupt, influential people allied with powerful demons.

The stadium-style lecture hall was more full than Rand had ever seen it. A ceiling leak next door had forced Professor Sharma and her students to share Rand’s classroom for the afternoon. Fortunately, it was a test day for both classes, so combining everyone wasn’t an issue.

Even as Rand sat behind the desk at the head of his classroom, he ached from the lumps he’d taken in the decrepit mansion. The large purple bruises underneath his clothes were nowhere near faded. Every few seconds, he had to consciously force his eyelids open. It frustrated him how badly his body wanted to sleep now, but when he laid down in bed at night, he was suddenly alert, constantly imagining figures shifting in the shadowy corners of the room.

Maybe I should get up and walk around with her, Rand thought. That might keep me awake.

Rand considered Professor Sharma’s militant demeanor during test-taking a bit much. But then again, she taught World Religions—one of the core classes in the Religious Studies department. From what Rand had heard, her class was notoriously difficult, and many students had to repeat it. Rand eyed the current batch as they pored over their essay tests, scratching their heads, chewing on pen tops, and correcting their work with white-out.

Another wave of fatigue blurred his vision, so he clenched his eyes shut for a few moments before opening them. Doing that almost felt like a reset, and he hoped it would buy him about ten more seconds of forced attention before his brain dozed off again. Staying alert was vital because there were important things he needed to do after class.

And during. Focus, he told himself.

Rand turned his tired eyes back to his laptop on the desk in front of him. A few hours prior, his friend Miller Landingham had emailed him a link.

‘This is the website where I found Arthur Briggs,’ Miller had written underneath the link. ‘Take a look, but keep an open mind. I really think he knows what he’s talking about.

Rand felt a familiar resistance well up within him. Despite Miller’s good intentions, Rand was reluctant to admit there might be someone more knowledgeable about the supernatural world than him.

Not only that, but Arthur Briggs was arrogant and dismissive. He’d called Miller after they’d escaped the Herron House and had been unimpressed by Rand’s new knowledge that demons could be killed.

“No shit,” he’d said.

What had been one of the biggest breakthroughs of Rand’s life might as well have been an overplayed pop song on the radio to Arthur Briggs.

And that’s probably why Miller thinks he’s reliable, Rand reminded himself.

Despite his misgivings… Rand knew Miller was right. Rand needed to keep an open mind about Arthur Briggs if he really wanted the best chance in his fights against the demonic. It was important to learn all he could from anyone who might be able to help, even though it sounded to Rand like Briggs wasn’t at all interested.

“This is not my fight. You stirred up this trouble. There’s nothing I can do for you.”

As far as Rand was concerned, Arthur Briggs had made his position clear. Yet Miller wanted to disregard that and see if there was a way to get Briggs to assist them anyway.

Despite his hesitance, Rand needed help. The events of the other night inside the Herron House had proven he was in over his head.

Rand’s thoughts were interrupted when his student—Jimmy Newson—started walking down the stadium steps towards him, completed test in hand. Rand had been so distracted by his rambling mind that he’d lost track of time. Jimmy placed his test on the stack of other and left.

Was he the last one? Or the first? Rand cast a hopeful glance around the room, looking for any of his students among the dozens of Professor Sharma’s that remained. If everyone had finished the test, then he could leave early—which would be a big help, because he’d planned to meet with Miller and Libby to discuss their next steps.

But then Rand spotted Kurt, seated at the edge of the room and still engrossed in his papers. His brow was furrowed as he pondered over the questions.

Come on, Kurt, it’s not that difficult, Rand thought.

Kurt was always the last to finish his test, usually taking the entire hour. He second-guessed everything.

Normally, Rand appreciated his meticulousness. But on that day, with so many other things on his mind, Rand wished that just once, Kurt would trust his knowledge and turn the test in. Especially since the multiple-choice questions weren’t difficult.

Professor Sharma approached the stack of turned-in tests. Rand could see the overwhelming curiosity on his colleague’s face as she picked up Jimmy’s test and scanned the first page. Her interest was quickly replaced by skeptical confusion.

Although Rand didn’t socialize much with the other professors and instructors, he was aware of the rumors surrounding his class, as well as the ire from the ones who didn’t consider his subject matter “real.”

But Rand had nothing to hide. What he taught was just as real and important as the material in other classes. Professor Sharma could peek at his tests all she wanted. She—and everyone else in the world—could greatly benefit from knowing the safest way to banish a demon from your home, or the best strategy for leading a lost spirit to the afterlife. Those were questions two and seven, respectively.

The inclusion of Intro to Supernatural Studies on the Religious Studies roster three years ago had always been controversial. Rand was under no illusion that the other professors and instructors in the department actually considered him a serious teacher. Although he didn’t know for sure, Rand suspected that Professor Sharma might have been his biggest detractor.

Rand refocused on his laptop screen. He clicked the link that Miller had sent him the day before, which took him to a website that looked like it was from the early 90s. The background was black, the text was white, and two cheesy skulls at the top of the homepage rotated round and round—probably the most complex feature in the site’s code.

He understood the website’s appearance didn’t matter. Sites like this were what Miller perused quite often. Its users had been discussing the paranormal and supernatural online since the earliest days of the internet. Updating their websites to modern styles wasn’t important—they were all about exchanging information and ideas.

The link led to the forum thread Miller wanted him to read. Rand skimmed through to see how long the post was before he started. Posts from a user named “AB”—which Rand assumed to be Arthur Briggs—were the longest, and they seemed to be met with positive responses in the comments.

As he scrolled, one phrase jumped out.

The Lords of Hell.

Arthur had mentioned that when he’d called Miller; Rand had never heard of them before. This was another reason why Miller felt Briggs was credible—there were things the man spoke about that neither Miller nor Rand knew of.

Rand tried to not let his ego take a hit. He’d spent half his life immersing himself in the supernatural world, fighting extremely dangerous demonic entities and nearly dying on multiple occasions. He even taught a damn class on the subject. He was very hesitant to consider the idea that there was someone out there who knew more than him.

Before Rand could start reading through the forum posts, Kurt rose from his desk and started toward the front of the classroom.

Rand didn’t hesitate. He snapped his laptop shut, shot up from his chair, and shoved the stack of test papers into his bag. He met Kurt halfway and took his test from him, earning an odd look from the boy.

Professor Sharma also eyed him strangely. After being sluggish and tired all hour, he’d suddenly come alive.

“You’ll lock up and turn the lights off?” Rand asked her, keeping his voice low to not disturb her students who were still working.

She responded with a stiff nod.

So, Rand headed toward the exit. His arms were full and the things he carried were precariously loose even when clutched to his chest.

He felt something drop.

The black cube landed with a heavy thud that reverberated off the classroom walls and ceiling, breaking through the silence more than he would’ve thought possible for an object that was only the size of a Rubik’s Cube. Professor Sharma’s students all looked up from their exams, startled.

He’d taken it from the Herron House and no matter how many times he tried to get rid of it, it always reappeared either beside him or in one of his pockets. This time it had been inside his interior jacket pocket, even though he’d locked the cube in a drawer in his office before class.

It rested on the tiled floor between him and Professor Sharma. Rand knew what was coming—seeing that Rand’s arms were full, she went to pick up the black cube to hand it to him.

“No,” Rand said, a little too sharply. He quickly set everything down and rushed to snatch it up before Professor Sharma could touch it.

Rand knew hardly anything about the black cube—what it was, where it had come from, what it was made of, or what dark energy it held. But he knew that it brought some kind of curse on anyone who touched it. He’d learned that at the Herron House—James Herron had been its previous victim.

Professor Sharma gave him a peculiar look as he tucked the cube into his jacket pocket and ensured it was securely inside and would not drop again. He wasn’t sure how it had fallen out in the first place. The thing seemed to have a mind of its own.

“Sorry,” Rand added quickly, now aware that every eye in the room was on him. He scooped up his stack of tests and rushed out of the classroom.

Now, the unpleasant part of the day would begin—facing his friends and family, who were counting on him to protect them from the evil he’d stirred up three nights ago.